Dreams of an Island
by DarkestWolfx
Summary: Being so far away, it seemed impossible to think about going back... Even his best attempts couldn't get him back. But he could dream of an island left behind. Tag for and slight spoilers for S3E25.


Hello, hello! Yes I know, long time no read! Sorry, this girl went travelling again! Seriously, if you ever get a chance to go to the Rainforest I seriously suggest you do! I've just spent the past year out and around there and I think I have some of the best memories of my life!

I am back now… I have had to purchase a new laptop and I'm busy playing catch up, so my updates might be slow, but I'm here.

I'm going to update Crash Focus in a moment – luckily I have a couple chapters written – and I have two episode tags that I never uploaded before I left! So I'll chuck those up at some point too!

This one is for today's episode anyway. Not too sure where it came from, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I might expand on it one day, but for now I'll leave it like this.

* * *

Being so far away, it seemed impossible to think about going back.

For starters, there was no easy way back. He had little he could use to get the engines started again, and even if he could, there was no telling how the navigation or even the ship itself would hold up. With only a one-man crew, if anything went wrong it would be impossible to fix it inflight and that could mean attempting another landing which could risk never getting started again. But then, not attempting to fix it could risk being thrown even further out into space…

And who knew if anyone would hear him then?

Who knew if anyone would hear him now?

He was trying to have faith on that account though. He knew what his boys were like, because each of them in some way was like him. He knew they wouldn't give up.

It might take them years, it might take them too long, but they wouldn't give up.

And he could live – and die if he must – knowing that.

* * *

It wasn't all bad. There wasn't much to do. It wasn't like he got any TV signal up here, after all.

He spent the first few days sending whatever transmissions he could, trying to keep his communication signals intact. If someone could pick something up, even if it was eventually, then he might stand a chance.

He'd believe in that chance.

After that, he spent the next few days redecorating. He was incredibly specific, even thinking about how he could leave the ship to best serve his interests: life, breathing, waiting.

They were the only things which mattered.

A few home comforts would have been nice, but they didn't _matter _as such.

So he tucked himself away, methodically worked out the best way to keep air flowing and waited.

That was what _mattered._

* * *

Sometimes he dreamed.

Sometimes he cataloged everything he had on board.

Sometimes he imagined what it would be like to be at home.

Sometimes he thought mournfully of what he was missing.

Sometimes he had things he could do… less often than not though.

So sometimes he went exploring to pass the time.

* * *

Once he knew everything about the ? he was on, there was little else to explore to pass the time. The risk of jumping from one to another was far too risky for him to be willing to take it. Besides, they all looked the same, orbited in a similar pattern and well, he could observe their wonders from here.

These were things he'd imagined in his wildest dreams, although being _stuck _here had never been a part of those dreams.

He tried his best to find something to do around the place every single day.

That was tricky on many accounts. Measuring the days was hard to start with, just as keeping a constant selection of things to do was. Nothing was major and so he could leave tasks easily, but that went against everything he'd ever been: organised and reliable.

He tried to not rush them all though… it would leave him less to do in the long run, and potentially more days of boredom.

But it was a fact that he found himself with little to do save sit around. He'd never done that. Not unless he was sat at his desk, but then that still held some form of _work._

If he made it back home, he was never taking "a day off" again, let alone retiring!

* * *

He was missing many birthdays, that was for starters.

He tried to keep track the best he could, the ages flying by in his head.

He tried to think of what he would have given the boys for every single one of those birthdays. The Thunderbirds were a hard gift to top, but he'd always planned to try and manage it. He was sure the best present they could imagine now was him coming home… yet that was the one present he couldn't give them.

Rather, the one they would have to give him.

And they'd always been so good at picking perfect gifts for him.

He thought about his Mother, and whether she'd still be up and about, cooking disasters like she used to.

He thought about Brains and wondered whether he was still building incredible invention after invention.

He thought about Lady Penelope and Parker, and whether they ever managed to avoid danger. And to how that little puppy was doing nowadays. After all, he knew Parker wasn't overly fond of dogs.

He was missing so much being up here; the big and the small.

And all of that mattered.

It mattered so much to him that it almost hurt to think about it.

But he would continue to think about it; because it _mattered._

* * *

At home, Scott would be getting up at 5. AM. and carrying on with routine, taking control of all situations.

At home, John would be going mad at the effects of gravity and the stars being so far away from the stars.

At home, Virgil would be painting or playing the piano.

At home, Gordon would be doing lap after lap in the pool and terrorising his brothers with his apparent sense of humour.

At home, Alan would be trying to skip studying and get in on piloting Thunderbird Three, because the kid had always wanted the rocket just like John.

At home, Grandma would be baking her best recipes and telling the boys to keep the place clean.

At home, Brains would probably be making a set of explosions and a set of great inventions to go along with them.

At home, he would be sitting at his desk, or going out on rescue missions, or being pulled into whatever the boys plan for the day was.

It would all be like usual. He'd set himself up a home here, but even with a bed and a makeshift desk and lights, and well, everything… it just wasn't the same. He'd tried to make himself pancakes for the sake of the norm, but it didn't go down well. No pancakes in space, he would remember to tell the boys, they just flop. He almost wished he had his pink flamingo shirt with him, just to brighten the place up. It would be like usual, at home, whilst he was here… _not_ at _home_.

At home, Scott would be controlling _everything_ to try and fill the gap.

At home, John would isolating himself up in space.

At home, Virgil would be throwing paint around in anger.

At home, Gordon would be crying under water.

At home, Alan would be staying in bed.

At home, Grandma would baking out of stress, making her cooking even worse.

At home, Brains would be overcompensating for a "failure".

At "home", he was thinking mournfully about _home._

Because without doubt that is where he would love to be.

* * *

Cataloging everything he had left on board was always a worthwhile task, especially as it helped him to gauge what time he might have left.

Many things stayed the same, like the items he'd used to make his bed, or his kitchen, but he put them down on the inventory anyway.

It was probably rare that he would lose anything – after all, he was alone, and little but he ever left the remains of the ship, but still, it was worth having a physical log.

It was his weekly log.

And it was a bit of order for him anyway, and that was what mattered.

He didn't have everything he might want or need, but he would find a way to survive. He and Captain Taylor had written a book on space survival, after all. It might not be ideal, but he was sure he could find a way.

Find a way to wait.

Because it might take a while, but eventually someone would come. He could catalogue that as a certainty.

* * *

_The sun had never looked more beautiful than it did right now, streaming in through the large windows, dazzling off the water of the swimming pool and illuminating the whole island in shades of blue, brown and green. They were very lucky to live where they did._

"_Pancakes! Come and get your pancakes!"_

_Yes, Sunday morning on Tracy Island was already in full swing._

_Scott might walk into the kitchen, but Gordon and Alan ran, still squabbling over who was first like the children they claimed to no longer be._

_Virgil would always appear at some point, when Grandma could drag him away from painting, or playing the piano, or sleeping in, or admiring the green giant of an aircraft – which ever one had taken his fancy for the morning so Jeff never worried._

_John would always wait until Gordon and Alan had taken a seat before making his way in. Gravity was even more of an issue now he'd been helping out on Thunderbird Five, but the red head had always been somewhat clumsy. Apart from when it came to grabbing his plate heaped full of pancakes off the kitchen side. It made Jeff smile._

"_I want the maple syrup!"_

_Scott passed the bottle to Gordon, wordlessly as Alan looked over the table's contents._

"_I want chocolate!"_

"_Chocolate, Alan?"_

"_Yeah!"_

"_No." John decreed. Jeff agreed with the point. The youngest was hyper enough without the addition of the sugary substance._

"_But it will go well with my pancakes!" The youngest insisted._

"_You don't have chocolate on pancakes, Alan."_

"_Says you Scott. You're boring!"_

"_I am not! Am I boring?"_

_Silence._

"_Oh come on!"_

"_Come on, what?" Virgil inquired as he descended into the kitchen._

"_Alan thinks I'm boring. Really, I'm not boring."_

_Virgil fell just as silent as the table had before his entry. Jeff thought now might be the time to rescue his eldest._

"_Pancakes are here, Virge."_

_He motioned to the kitchen side top where he was still stacking the pancakes. He might have gone a little overboard on the mix this morning, but hey, he and all his boys had healthy appetites, so they wouldn't go to waste._

"_Thanks Dad." Virgil grabbed his plate. "So, what else have I missed?"_

"_Alan wants to put chocolate on pancakes!" Gordon called._

_Alan's face scrunched up adorably from where Jeff was standing._

"_Yeah, well Gordon wants to put maple syrup on his!"_

"_Oh, I'll have some maple syrup!"_

"_Virgil!" The youngest whined._

"_What?" The middle child queried as he took the proffered bottle from a very, very smiley Gordon. "Maple syrup is good. It's the best on pancakes."_

"_You two," Alan pointed to Virgil and Gordon in turn, "Are not my brothers."_

"_Hey!"_

"_Now, now, don't squabble you lot or there won't be any more pancakes." He proclaimed to five upset faces. It was a sure-fire way to cease any nearing fights. Pancakes were almost the way to his boy's hearts nowadays._

"_I'm not squabbling, Dad," Scott began, "But can we just settle the fact that I'm not boring, right?"_

_Alan sniggered. John dropped his head into his hands. Gordon just tucked his head down and dug his fork into a large chunk of pancake. Virgil wasn't quick enough to react as Scott's eyes turned to him._

"_Umm... I wasn't here for the start of this conversation?"_

"_Is that a yes or a no, then?"_

_Jeff set is own plate on the table. "You're not boring son, alright."_

"_But-" Alan piped up._

"_So," Jeff began firmly, silencing any argument Alan might have been about to bring to the table. "Who's making the pancakes next week?"_

"_You are Dad!" The boys chorused._

"_No one makes them like you do." John stated before slapping Gordon's hand away as the swimmer went to swallow another pancake whole._

"_Yeah, and Scott here nearly burnt the kitchen down." Virgil reminded._

"_I did not!"_

"_You were cooking the pancakes!"_

"_Alan asked me to play a game with him."_

"_Yeah, so we got lumped with charred pancakes."_

"_Yeah, yuck!" Alan agreed._

"_You were the one who distracted me!"_

"_Scott, if you're going to threaten Alan at least put your fork down first. Gordon, cut the pancakes!"_

"_Yeah Gordon cut the pancakes!"_

"_I'll show you cutting pancakes!"_

"_Gordon!"_

"_Are we having a food fight?"_

"_No Alan!"_

"_Why did you throw a pancake at me?"_

_Gordon shrugged. "You deserved it."_

"_Fine," Virgil huffed, stabbing said thrown pancake which had landed on his plate with his fork, "If I deserved it, I'll just eat it."_

"_Hey, that's mine!"_

"_Not anymore!"_

"_Not fair!"_

"_You did throw it across the table, Gordon."_

"_Shut up John."_

"_Hey, don't tell your brother's to shu-"_

"_Shut up Scott."_

"_Gordon!"_

_Alan chuckled away quietly to himself, munching carefully on his pancakes and the newly found chocolate. Jeff had watched the boy go and retrieve the bar from the cupboard whilst his brothers argued._

_He could interfere but it was quite entertaining to watch actually._

_Yes, it was business as usual on this Sunday morning at Tracy Island, with all the havoc pancakes could cause._

"_Dad, why are you laughing?"_

_There were never going to be enough words to explain that one to his boys. They wouldn't understand it just yet. One day maybe._

"_Dad, can I have more pancakes now?"_

"_Hey, when did Alan get the chocolate!"_

"_What? Oh no!"_

"_Dad!"_

_Jeff laughed again. "Yes, son, I'll get you some more pancakes."_

"_But no more chocolate!"_

He woke with a start.

His eyes fixed on the Island. Beautiful and serene and peaceful in all its glory.

It was glorious even in black and white. He probably should have brought some of the boys old colouring pencils with him after all.

He grabbed his pencil and etched in another shade to on the rock face.

It was a work to admire, especially when he'd never been the artist of the family. But it was there on the wall, a permanent reminder, not that he could forget.

That was the Island. That was _home._

Every dream brought the details back, closer to him, and he amended the drawing every time.

Still, it was never really the Island when he woke up.

Only a dream of it, and that's all it would be.

* * *

Even his best attempts couldn't get him back.

But even if they couldn't, he could dream of an island left behind.

And of the familiar calls of "Dad!".

* * *

There you go. I'm kinda happy with the way I think this storyline is going to go, although I would have preferred it if Peter Delaney was still around to do a cameo but hey! The voice they've gone with doesn't seem too bad, but then we barely heard a line, so I'll reserve judgment.


End file.
